Shortly after 9:30am today, Mrs. KintlaLake and our spawns left for a few days' R&R in Indiana. Old friends of theirs recently bought a summer place on a lake over there and extended an invitation.
I was invited, too, but honestly I wasn't interested in spending time sunning myself on a bustling, dock-by-dock-by-dock lakeshore, and I said so. I encouraged the three of them to take full advantage of their friends' hospitality.
So off they went this morning -- three tall people, plus luggage, folded into a convertible meant for two. Perhaps even more comical is imagining the spawns going to a place without TV, video games or Internet. The mind reels...
There's no tension around our spending time apart, by the way, no hard feelings and no precipitating event. I never forget that the three of them were a family unto themselves long before I came into the picture, and it'll be good for them to bond again in the presence of familiar faces they haven't seen in a while.
They know all that stuff, even though they haven't said it out loud. They also know that I'll enjoy getting reacquainted with my inner bachelor. So it's a good thing.
The dogs and I have the place to ourselves. When I finish typing this post, I'll fix my dinner, put my feet up, listen to the storms rumble through and watch some tube. (Eat your hearts out, spawns.) I'll take many deep breaths and enjoy my own company.
That's a good thing, too.
* * *
Update, 5:15pm: I spoke with my wife, who'd just returned from a boat ride cut short by threatening weather. Although the house is equipped with a NOAA weather radio, she's been entertaining the group with the radar images she's pulling up on her cell phone. It doesn't look good.
Right now they're under a tornado warning. Fortunately, there's a concrete-block shelter built into a berm in the yard. It should be an interesting night for them.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Pathétique meets pathetic
In the moments before his CNBC interview began on Tuesday, Pres. Barack Obama killed a fly.Swat! -- "I got the sucker," said the Leader of the Free World, to off-camera applause and laughter.
Anyone who's been conscious for the last 20 years knows what happened next -- People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, of course, issued a press release:
"We support compassion for the even the smallest animals. We support giving insects the benefit of the doubt."PETA advocates catch-and-release, by the way, even for flies, and reportedly sent Pres. Obama a contraption that'll allow him to be less cruel next time.
I swear I'm not making this up. I only wish I were.
Oh, it doesn't surprise me that there are people who, for whatever reason, actually feel compassion for insects. Personally, I don't get that sort of thing, but ok, whatever.
It annoys the hell out of me, however, that we grant tax-exempt status to an organization with non-profit balls big enough to make a formal public statement chiding the President of the United States for killing a bug.
Like we care. Am I right?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Poor substitutes
In quiet moments -- and over the last week or so I've had quite a few -- I've gathered some of my observations about modern life.
This particular train of thought began with my noticing that we've confused inconvenience with hardship. Disappointment is disaster. We feel discomfort and call it pain; we don't know the difference between being hurt and being injured.
The moment that our stomachs grumble, we complain of hunger.
We reward effort as if it were achievement. Our electronic to-do lists have become cheap masquerades for accountability, personal responsibility, accomplishment.
Excellence is buckling under the weight of fairness.
The very human emotion of anger is, to us, akin to violence. Parents' justifiably stern discipline is seen as abuse.
The simple pocketknife no longer is a tool, it's a deadly weapon. An armed citizen who's rightfully prepared to defend his family is treated like a criminal while true criminals are coddled, precious candidates for rehabilitation.
Volume is a barometer of credibility -- louder is smarter.
Independence, which has great worth, has been overgrown by contrarianism, which is a mere affectation. Ideology is mistaken for values, religion for faith and truth for facts.
Belief is certainty. Sincerity is interchangeable with honesty. Rote knowledge has replaced wisdom.
We've abandoned respect entirely, it would seem, along with the inestimable value of hard work -- both our own and that of others.
Most disturbing of all, I think, is that we've decided that it's more important to entertain our children, to please them and make sure that they're never unhappy, than it is to raise them.
If all of this sounds like I just called major bullshit on today's society, it's because that's exactly what I intended to do. I don't like where we are, not one bit, and I'm not optimistic about where we're headed.
This particular train of thought began with my noticing that we've confused inconvenience with hardship. Disappointment is disaster. We feel discomfort and call it pain; we don't know the difference between being hurt and being injured.
The moment that our stomachs grumble, we complain of hunger.
We reward effort as if it were achievement. Our electronic to-do lists have become cheap masquerades for accountability, personal responsibility, accomplishment.
Excellence is buckling under the weight of fairness.
The very human emotion of anger is, to us, akin to violence. Parents' justifiably stern discipline is seen as abuse.
The simple pocketknife no longer is a tool, it's a deadly weapon. An armed citizen who's rightfully prepared to defend his family is treated like a criminal while true criminals are coddled, precious candidates for rehabilitation.
Volume is a barometer of credibility -- louder is smarter.
Independence, which has great worth, has been overgrown by contrarianism, which is a mere affectation. Ideology is mistaken for values, religion for faith and truth for facts.
Belief is certainty. Sincerity is interchangeable with honesty. Rote knowledge has replaced wisdom.
We've abandoned respect entirely, it would seem, along with the inestimable value of hard work -- both our own and that of others.
Most disturbing of all, I think, is that we've decided that it's more important to entertain our children, to please them and make sure that they're never unhappy, than it is to raise them.
If all of this sounds like I just called major bullshit on today's society, it's because that's exactly what I intended to do. I don't like where we are, not one bit, and I'm not optimistic about where we're headed.
Hump Day ramble
Instead of three bus-driving assignments yesterday I had four. My wife's car again stayed in the shop overnight, adding a late-afternoon trip to pick her up at work. As a result, we also made a return run to drop her off early this morning.
Tuesday involved lots of sitting and waiting, of course, as well as logging even more miles than we had the day before. None of us loves this unpredictable road show of ours, but it is what it is -- two days, 18 gallons of gas, fifty bucks.
If there's a bright spot, it's that my TrailBlazer got almost 19mpg on that tank, the best everyday mileage I've seen since adopting this used SUV last October. With gas prices high and climbing, hey, I'll take my good news wherever I find it.
* * *
The wild raspberry canes in our idle garden are loaded with ripening fruit. Unable to wait for them to reach maturity, I've sampled a few.
Tart and earthy treats. Great stuff.
By this weekend I hope to get into my rhythmic battle with the birds and reap some riper, sweeter rewards.
* * *
Speaking of the garden, last year's perennials are presenting us with a modest bounty.
Early-season oregano, thyme and chives complement the patches of wild garlic that dot our property. A couple of mint vines threaten to become the Kudzu of Ohio.
I really miss our basils, fragrant and fresh from the garden, but since it's an annual it wouldn't be ready yet anyway.
* * *
Trolling in Lancaster the other evening, we were surprised to see a full-service gas station -- and I mean nothing but.
Seriously. No self-serve pumps.
The sight prompted several minutes of tag-team reminiscing by my wife and me. We recalled a time when pulling up to the pump resembled a NASCAR pit stop -- two or three uniformed attendants swarming the car to wash the windows, check under the hood and fill the tank. In those days, there wasn't much in the way of mechanical work that couldn't be handled by the filling station on the corner, from changing tires to major engine repair.
Our trip down memory lane -- ding-ding! -- had us smiling. The spawns either didn't believe us or didn't much care.
The latter is more likely.
Tuesday involved lots of sitting and waiting, of course, as well as logging even more miles than we had the day before. None of us loves this unpredictable road show of ours, but it is what it is -- two days, 18 gallons of gas, fifty bucks.
If there's a bright spot, it's that my TrailBlazer got almost 19mpg on that tank, the best everyday mileage I've seen since adopting this used SUV last October. With gas prices high and climbing, hey, I'll take my good news wherever I find it.
* * *
The wild raspberry canes in our idle garden are loaded with ripening fruit. Unable to wait for them to reach maturity, I've sampled a few.
Tart and earthy treats. Great stuff.
By this weekend I hope to get into my rhythmic battle with the birds and reap some riper, sweeter rewards.
* * *
Speaking of the garden, last year's perennials are presenting us with a modest bounty.
Early-season oregano, thyme and chives complement the patches of wild garlic that dot our property. A couple of mint vines threaten to become the Kudzu of Ohio.
I really miss our basils, fragrant and fresh from the garden, but since it's an annual it wouldn't be ready yet anyway.
* * *
Trolling in Lancaster the other evening, we were surprised to see a full-service gas station -- and I mean nothing but.
Seriously. No self-serve pumps.
The sight prompted several minutes of tag-team reminiscing by my wife and me. We recalled a time when pulling up to the pump resembled a NASCAR pit stop -- two or three uniformed attendants swarming the car to wash the windows, check under the hood and fill the tank. In those days, there wasn't much in the way of mechanical work that couldn't be handled by the filling station on the corner, from changing tires to major engine repair.
Our trip down memory lane -- ding-ding! -- had us smiling. The spawns either didn't believe us or didn't much care.
The latter is more likely.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sharps: Roadwork & bargains
Yesterday...now that was a day.
Parts of it were known in advance, like shuttling the pooch-screwing member of our family out to Newark for a noon appointment, and the now-familiar trip down to Lancaster for a 6:30pm engagement.
It was the stuff in the middle that I didn't expect.
My wife decided that this was the day to have her car serviced, something that should've taken just a few hours, but when the mechanic discovered a mortally wounded wheel bearing it became a leave-it-overnight proposition. Between Newark and Lancaster, then, I zoomed up to Columbus to fetch Mrs. KintlaLake at work.
On all three trips, about 150 miles in all, both spawns came along for the ride. Each run involved considerable sit-and-wait time between outbound and inbound legs.
I hate waiting. Even more than that, I hate losing an entire day of my life to bus-driving duties.
A bit of serendipity appeared during our early-afternoon layover. Just down the street from our destination in Newark, a large sign beckoned: "Slone's Knives." (Oh, somebody pinch me.) The younger spawn and I took the bait and managed to kill an hour in the place.
Thousands of knives, some new but most used, filled display cases arranged on folding tables in the store's dim, musty interior. We found the owner to be fair, knowledgeable and entertaining as hell.
With the store in the midst of a going-out-of-business sale -- the ailing owner is on the verge of retiring -- there were bargains everywhere. Limited funds have kept me from treating my family to the occasional trinket these days, but here was a way to do something nice for each of them without breaking the bank (or, for that matter, without even breaking a sweat).
I found a lightly used Buck 183 Alpha CrossLock for our older spawn, a proper American-made addition to his outdoors kit. For my wife, who's needed a small one-hander to open packages at work, I picked up a brand-new Spyderco Dragonfly ClipIt FRN with a serrated edge. I treated myself to a well-loved Benchmade 5 Rescue Hook, complete with Kydex sheath, to keep in the truck.
The 14-year-old had his eye on a balisong -- a cheap, imported one. That wasn’t about to happen, both because it was Chinese garbage and because he hasn't yet shown the kind of judgment such a knife requires. He left the store empty-handed, asking me to defer my generosity to another time.
Fine with me. My grandfather would be proud of him.
All of my choices were inexpensive, absurdly so. I'm seldom in Newark, but I'm hoping to find a reason to get back up to this odd little store again before it closes, if only to gawk.
My roadwork resumed this morning with a rush-hour drive to Columbus, delivering my wife to her place of business, and will continue this afternoon with a trip to another part of the city, concluding (I hope) this evening with our regular Lancaster run. There will be more waiting -- no doubt about that.
Did I mention that I hate to wait?
Links
Benchmade Knife Company
Buck Knives
Spyderco
Parts of it were known in advance, like shuttling the pooch-screwing member of our family out to Newark for a noon appointment, and the now-familiar trip down to Lancaster for a 6:30pm engagement.
It was the stuff in the middle that I didn't expect.
My wife decided that this was the day to have her car serviced, something that should've taken just a few hours, but when the mechanic discovered a mortally wounded wheel bearing it became a leave-it-overnight proposition. Between Newark and Lancaster, then, I zoomed up to Columbus to fetch Mrs. KintlaLake at work.
On all three trips, about 150 miles in all, both spawns came along for the ride. Each run involved considerable sit-and-wait time between outbound and inbound legs.
I hate waiting. Even more than that, I hate losing an entire day of my life to bus-driving duties.
A bit of serendipity appeared during our early-afternoon layover. Just down the street from our destination in Newark, a large sign beckoned: "Slone's Knives." (Oh, somebody pinch me.) The younger spawn and I took the bait and managed to kill an hour in the place.
Thousands of knives, some new but most used, filled display cases arranged on folding tables in the store's dim, musty interior. We found the owner to be fair, knowledgeable and entertaining as hell.
With the store in the midst of a going-out-of-business sale -- the ailing owner is on the verge of retiring -- there were bargains everywhere. Limited funds have kept me from treating my family to the occasional trinket these days, but here was a way to do something nice for each of them without breaking the bank (or, for that matter, without even breaking a sweat).
I found a lightly used Buck 183 Alpha CrossLock for our older spawn, a proper American-made addition to his outdoors kit. For my wife, who's needed a small one-hander to open packages at work, I picked up a brand-new Spyderco Dragonfly ClipIt FRN with a serrated edge. I treated myself to a well-loved Benchmade 5 Rescue Hook, complete with Kydex sheath, to keep in the truck.The 14-year-old had his eye on a balisong -- a cheap, imported one. That wasn’t about to happen, both because it was Chinese garbage and because he hasn't yet shown the kind of judgment such a knife requires. He left the store empty-handed, asking me to defer my generosity to another time.
Fine with me. My grandfather would be proud of him.
All of my choices were inexpensive, absurdly so. I'm seldom in Newark, but I'm hoping to find a reason to get back up to this odd little store again before it closes, if only to gawk.
My roadwork resumed this morning with a rush-hour drive to Columbus, delivering my wife to her place of business, and will continue this afternoon with a trip to another part of the city, concluding (I hope) this evening with our regular Lancaster run. There will be more waiting -- no doubt about that.
Did I mention that I hate to wait?
LinksBenchmade Knife Company
Buck Knives
Spyderco
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sharps: Picking our pockets
We don't have much time here, so I'll make this brief.
U.S. Customs & Border Protection wants to change the definition of a "switchblade" to include all knives that open with one hand. If USCBP gets its way, an estimated 35.6 million law-abiding Americans who now own multi-tools, one-hand openers, assisted-openers and even traditional pocket knives immediately could become de facto criminals.
It's a classic example of a federal enforcement agency trying to do an end-run on Congress -- thus ignoring the will of the People -- by rewriting regulations before anyone notices. And although this particular proposal is directed only at importers of assisted-opening knives, the language used in the USCBP document is broad enough to apply to any knife that opens with one hand.
Once the agency succeeds in changing the definition, it likely will move against all folding knives -- whether they're imported or not.
This isn't just stupid -- it's real and it's right on top of us, right now.
Knife Rights, an advocacy group representing knife owners, is fighting this idiocy on our behalf. So is the American Knife & Tool Institute, a non-profit industry organization. Even the National Rifle Association, which almost never strays from firearms issues, recognizes how dangerous the situation is to our liberties.
I urge anyone who owns a folding knife to register opposition to the USCBP proposal by sending one or more of the model letters below. The agency isn't accepting comments by e-mail, and our letters must be received no later than Saturday, June 20th.
Let's do what we can to stop this, People.
Model letters (Microsoft Word)
Knife Rights letter to USCBP
AKTI letter to USCBP
AKTI letter to legislators
U.S. Customs & Border Protection wants to change the definition of a "switchblade" to include all knives that open with one hand. If USCBP gets its way, an estimated 35.6 million law-abiding Americans who now own multi-tools, one-hand openers, assisted-openers and even traditional pocket knives immediately could become de facto criminals.It's a classic example of a federal enforcement agency trying to do an end-run on Congress -- thus ignoring the will of the People -- by rewriting regulations before anyone notices. And although this particular proposal is directed only at importers of assisted-opening knives, the language used in the USCBP document is broad enough to apply to any knife that opens with one hand.
Once the agency succeeds in changing the definition, it likely will move against all folding knives -- whether they're imported or not.
This isn't just stupid -- it's real and it's right on top of us, right now.
Knife Rights, an advocacy group representing knife owners, is fighting this idiocy on our behalf. So is the American Knife & Tool Institute, a non-profit industry organization. Even the National Rifle Association, which almost never strays from firearms issues, recognizes how dangerous the situation is to our liberties.
I urge anyone who owns a folding knife to register opposition to the USCBP proposal by sending one or more of the model letters below. The agency isn't accepting comments by e-mail, and our letters must be received no later than Saturday, June 20th.
Let's do what we can to stop this, People.
Model letters (Microsoft Word)Knife Rights letter to USCBP
AKTI letter to USCBP
AKTI letter to legislators
Sunday, June 14, 2009
This week's 'word cloud'
These things have fascinated me for quite a while now.
This particular word cloud captures, in graphic form, the 200 words used most on KintlaLake Blog since last Sunday (common English words excluded.) The bigger the word shows up in the cloud, the more often it's appeared here.
Make your own at Wordle.
'Dedicated to the proposition'
To wrap this accidental series of posts on the climate of hate, I want to offer a final comment on criminal acts motivated by hate.
Unlike lone wolves, so-called "hate crimes" are real, not mythical. Hateful actors do, in fact, chose their targets based on race, ethnic origin, religion, sexual nature and more. That much is indisputable.
I've already expressed my firm belief that "hate speech," short of outright incitement, is protected from government restraint by the First Amendment. When hatred motivates a crime, though, should the law define those acts as somehow more serious? Should penalties be tougher?
Absolutely not.
Assault is assault -- never mind the motive, regardless of who the perpetrator is, irrespective of the target. Murder is murder, whether a junkie kills a yuppie or a yuppie kills a junkie. Our system of criminal justice provides for a range of punishment at sentencing.
To propose that hate-motivated crimes should be charged and punished differently flies in the face of "equal justice under law," which itself stems from our nation's most basic founding principle:
Such laws, intended to protect some, diminish all. We're created equal, yet these statutes send the message that some of us are more equal than others. They create special classes of victims and special classes of offenders.
Human nature guarantees that hatred will be with us forever. The First Amendment guarantees Americans' right to speak hate, however objectionable to the majority. And the Founders gave us the unequivocal assurance that all of us are created equal.
That perfect principle of liberty will die, however, if we capitulate to the kind of selective vengeance and misguided political correctness that hate-crime laws represent.
Unlike lone wolves, so-called "hate crimes" are real, not mythical. Hateful actors do, in fact, chose their targets based on race, ethnic origin, religion, sexual nature and more. That much is indisputable.
I've already expressed my firm belief that "hate speech," short of outright incitement, is protected from government restraint by the First Amendment. When hatred motivates a crime, though, should the law define those acts as somehow more serious? Should penalties be tougher?
Absolutely not.
Assault is assault -- never mind the motive, regardless of who the perpetrator is, irrespective of the target. Murder is murder, whether a junkie kills a yuppie or a yuppie kills a junkie. Our system of criminal justice provides for a range of punishment at sentencing.
To propose that hate-motivated crimes should be charged and punished differently flies in the face of "equal justice under law," which itself stems from our nation's most basic founding principle:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal..."Hate-crime laws are, in this citizen's view, unconstitutional -- they codify inequality by classifying some Americans as superior to other Americans. That is, they judge a crime against a gay man or an Asian woman or an evangelical Christian to be more heinous if the offender committed the act because the victim is gay, Asian, female or Christian.
Such laws, intended to protect some, diminish all. We're created equal, yet these statutes send the message that some of us are more equal than others. They create special classes of victims and special classes of offenders.
Human nature guarantees that hatred will be with us forever. The First Amendment guarantees Americans' right to speak hate, however objectionable to the majority. And the Founders gave us the unequivocal assurance that all of us are created equal.
That perfect principle of liberty will die, however, if we capitulate to the kind of selective vengeance and misguided political correctness that hate-crime laws represent.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The myth of the 'lone wolf'
Since Wednesday's shooting at the Holocaust Museum, experts have been characterizing the lifelong anti-Semite, racist and white supremacist who committed the murder as a "lone wolf." It was an isolated incident, they say, and the elderly killer acted alone.
I say that's a myth.
Oh, I get the concept, as it relates to criminal investigations and profiling. I'm familiar with separatists' strategic move toward small cells, so-called "leaderless resistance." I know that it's impossible to prevent all violent acts carried out by motivated individuals.
The problem I have with the "lone wolf" theory is that it tends to paint a picture that begins and ends inside the head of the perpetrator -- and that's like blaming Chicago for fire.
It takes a spark.
For the second time in as many days, I'm going to quote the Ohio Constitution § 1.11, which contains an interesting phrase not found in the U.S. Constitution's Bill of Rights:
Not all speech is responsible, however, even if permitted, and a right guaranteed can become a right abused.
There are consequences.
I accept the risks of this free society, the consequences of my constitutional rights, but I've yet to witness the merchants of hate, the Father Coughlins of our time, accept responsibility for tossing matches into tinder.
We should start telling the truth about that, even if they won't.
Today's questions
Was it pure coincidence that the vicious old man who murdered the museum security guard committed his act before he turned 89?
Did he come up with that number -- and the unparalleled evil it symbolizes -- what, on his own?
Still think he was a "lone wolf"?
I say that's a myth.
Oh, I get the concept, as it relates to criminal investigations and profiling. I'm familiar with separatists' strategic move toward small cells, so-called "leaderless resistance." I know that it's impossible to prevent all violent acts carried out by motivated individuals.
The problem I have with the "lone wolf" theory is that it tends to paint a picture that begins and ends inside the head of the perpetrator -- and that's like blaming Chicago for fire.
It takes a spark.
For the second time in as many days, I'm going to quote the Ohio Constitution § 1.11, which contains an interesting phrase not found in the U.S. Constitution's Bill of Rights:
"Every citizen may freely speak, write, and publish his sentiments on all subjects, being responsible for the abuse of the right..."Our laws prohibit government from restraining or abridging speech, including objectionable and hateful speech -- and as I've said many times, that's exactly as it should be. I'm not suggesting otherwise.
Not all speech is responsible, however, even if permitted, and a right guaranteed can become a right abused.
There are consequences.
I accept the risks of this free society, the consequences of my constitutional rights, but I've yet to witness the merchants of hate, the Father Coughlins of our time, accept responsibility for tossing matches into tinder.
We should start telling the truth about that, even if they won't.
Today's questions
Was it pure coincidence that the vicious old man who murdered the museum security guard committed his act before he turned 89?
Did he come up with that number -- and the unparalleled evil it symbolizes -- what, on his own?
Still think he was a "lone wolf"?
Friday, June 12, 2009
Impressions: KSF Leather Holt
About six weeks ago, the folks at Michigan's Sharpshooter Sheath Systems and KnivesShipFree, an Oklahoma-based retailer, were brainstorming about ways to carry a small OtterBox -- y'know, one of those watertight and nearly indestructible plastic containers available in a wide range of sizes and colors. This is what they came up with:
It's called a Holt, which I've learned is what an otter's den is called. (Clever, that.) The KSF Leather Holt is offered in two sizes -- one to fit the OtterBox 1000, another for the larger OtterBox 2000 -- and essentially is two leather straps that form a cradle for the box. It's designed to ride on a belt, a pack strap or Sharpshooter's Baldric setup. The keeper strap fastens with a snap.
I got hold of a Holt 1000 (as well as an OtterBox 1000) yesterday. I'm impressed -- it's an exquisitely simple concept, executed very well. Typical of Sharpshooter's leather goods, it features high-quality leather, hardware and construction.
The strap on my particular Holt, compared to ones pictured above, has a bit less leather below the snap. That makes sense -- a smaller tab will be less likely, I think, to catch on brush and such. Running changes, when they improve a product, are good.
Expect to read about the KSF Leather Holt 1000 again on KintlaLake Blog. I've decided that the OtterBox 1000 is the perfect size for a grab'n'go survival kit or a tag-along first-aid kit. I haven't yet decided which one, but whatever I end up doing I'll post about it here.
Earlier post
Sharps: Heartland leather
Links
KnivesShipFree
Sharpshooter Sheath Systems
OtterBox
KnifeForums thread
It's called a Holt, which I've learned is what an otter's den is called. (Clever, that.) The KSF Leather Holt is offered in two sizes -- one to fit the OtterBox 1000, another for the larger OtterBox 2000 -- and essentially is two leather straps that form a cradle for the box. It's designed to ride on a belt, a pack strap or Sharpshooter's Baldric setup. The keeper strap fastens with a snap.
I got hold of a Holt 1000 (as well as an OtterBox 1000) yesterday. I'm impressed -- it's an exquisitely simple concept, executed very well. Typical of Sharpshooter's leather goods, it features high-quality leather, hardware and construction.
The strap on my particular Holt, compared to ones pictured above, has a bit less leather below the snap. That makes sense -- a smaller tab will be less likely, I think, to catch on brush and such. Running changes, when they improve a product, are good.
Expect to read about the KSF Leather Holt 1000 again on KintlaLake Blog. I've decided that the OtterBox 1000 is the perfect size for a grab'n'go survival kit or a tag-along first-aid kit. I haven't yet decided which one, but whatever I end up doing I'll post about it here.
Earlier postSharps: Heartland leather
Links
KnivesShipFree
Sharpshooter Sheath Systems
OtterBox
KnifeForums thread
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Stupid is, evil does
Remember all the hand-wringing over a pair of Department of Homeland Security documents highlighting threats posed by homegrown extremism?
It was a couple of months ago when conservatives, neo- and otherwise, were declaring the agency's attention to radical right-wing groups an attack on free speech and states' rights. They called for DHS Secretary Janet Napolitano's head on a plate.
Their mindless frothing wasn't terribly credible, but in this political climate you'll have that sort of thing.
Reasonable people -- and by that I mean people who actually have read the documents and aren't ideologically impaired -- can talk through the relevant constitutional issues, and we can agree or disagree about whether or not our government is treading where it doesn't belong.
We just can't be stupid about this.
Homegrown extremism is real and it's growing. I don't need to read a government report to see that, and neither do you.
It doesn't matter if it comes from the radical right or the loony left -- and yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as left-wing extremism. Just this morning, in fact, media are reporting that Rev. Jeremiah Wright blames "them Jews" for blocking his access to Pres. Obama.
Wright is a racist idiot, sure, but that doesn't give us license to be stupid. We have to tell the truth, and the truth is that the most malevolent and widespread domestic extremism lives on the far right. DHS knows that. I do, too.
I mean, how many more clues do we need? For cryin' out loud, people, this ain't rocket science.
Extremists cower behind gods, birthrights and constitutions. Racists, anti-Semites and separatists inhabit the margins of both civilization and politics, and a free society allows for their existence. When Americans elected a black president with a foreign-sounding name, our laws granted extremists the right to spew paranoia and hate.
Our Constitution confers the right to speak, but our stupidity allows hate to thrive, walk among us and evolve inevitably into violence.
We get it all so horribly wrong because we misunderstand the First Amendment, which says,
You and I, however, aren't similarly constrained. Individual citizens are free to drive the proselytes of hate from our midst.
In this nation of laws, we have every right to make evil unwelcome in our homes, our communities, our conversations and our correspondence. Acting as independent citizens, and without the slightest risk of affronting the free-speech rights of others, we may stand up and assert, "Your hate is unacceptable to me. Say what you want, but not here."
That's individual liberty at work. It's also our responsibility.
When we shirk that responsibility, ignoring the clues that litter free-but-hateful speech, we create the space for a law-abiding physician to be murdered in the name of the killer's god, while the doctor worshipped the same god. We permit an addled old bigot to commit the last of his many atrocities in the lobby of a museum that stands against history's greatest atrocity.
We turn our backs and let the Murrah Building fall.
Day after day across this country, homegrown hate prospers and festers, it assaults and it kills because we believe that we have to allow its disciples to shout in our faces. We do not.
I will not.
Earlier post
The impotence of indignation
Links
Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic & Political Climate Fueling Resurgence in Radicalization & Recruitment (pdf)
Domestic Extremism Lexicon (pdf)
It was a couple of months ago when conservatives, neo- and otherwise, were declaring the agency's attention to radical right-wing groups an attack on free speech and states' rights. They called for DHS Secretary Janet Napolitano's head on a plate.
Their mindless frothing wasn't terribly credible, but in this political climate you'll have that sort of thing.
Reasonable people -- and by that I mean people who actually have read the documents and aren't ideologically impaired -- can talk through the relevant constitutional issues, and we can agree or disagree about whether or not our government is treading where it doesn't belong.
We just can't be stupid about this.
Homegrown extremism is real and it's growing. I don't need to read a government report to see that, and neither do you.
It doesn't matter if it comes from the radical right or the loony left -- and yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as left-wing extremism. Just this morning, in fact, media are reporting that Rev. Jeremiah Wright blames "them Jews" for blocking his access to Pres. Obama.
Wright is a racist idiot, sure, but that doesn't give us license to be stupid. We have to tell the truth, and the truth is that the most malevolent and widespread domestic extremism lives on the far right. DHS knows that. I do, too.
I mean, how many more clues do we need? For cryin' out loud, people, this ain't rocket science.
Extremists cower behind gods, birthrights and constitutions. Racists, anti-Semites and separatists inhabit the margins of both civilization and politics, and a free society allows for their existence. When Americans elected a black president with a foreign-sounding name, our laws granted extremists the right to spew paranoia and hate.
Our Constitution confers the right to speak, but our stupidity allows hate to thrive, walk among us and evolve inevitably into violence.
We get it all so horribly wrong because we misunderstand the First Amendment, which says,
"Congress shall make no law...abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press...."In my own state, the Ohio Constitution instructs,
"Every citizen may freely speak, write, and publish his sentiments on all subjects, being responsible for the abuse of the right; and no law shall be passed to restrain or abridge the liberty of speech, or of the press."So it is, and so it should be -- government may neither restrain nor abridge the right of The People to speak in advocacy of or opposition to any matter or cause.
You and I, however, aren't similarly constrained. Individual citizens are free to drive the proselytes of hate from our midst.
In this nation of laws, we have every right to make evil unwelcome in our homes, our communities, our conversations and our correspondence. Acting as independent citizens, and without the slightest risk of affronting the free-speech rights of others, we may stand up and assert, "Your hate is unacceptable to me. Say what you want, but not here."
That's individual liberty at work. It's also our responsibility.
When we shirk that responsibility, ignoring the clues that litter free-but-hateful speech, we create the space for a law-abiding physician to be murdered in the name of the killer's god, while the doctor worshipped the same god. We permit an addled old bigot to commit the last of his many atrocities in the lobby of a museum that stands against history's greatest atrocity.
We turn our backs and let the Murrah Building fall.
Day after day across this country, homegrown hate prospers and festers, it assaults and it kills because we believe that we have to allow its disciples to shout in our faces. We do not.
I will not.
Earlier postThe impotence of indignation
Links
Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic & Political Climate Fueling Resurgence in Radicalization & Recruitment (pdf)
Domestic Extremism Lexicon (pdf)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Of two generals
When I drew parallels between Lancaster, Ohio and the city of my birth in Monday's post, I forgot something.
One town is the birthplace of a famous (or infamous) Civil War general. The other has the distinction of being linked forever to a self-styled "general" who led an "army" of jobless Americans.
William Tecumseh Sherman, best known for his brutal campaign near the war's end, was articulate, if rough-edged, and an accomplished military commander. Some judged him to be insane, but more than once those who doubted his decisions saw them lead to victory on the battlefield.
Ulysses S. Grant often seemed to be the only one who believed in Sherman, and vice versa:
Jacob Sechler Coxey was born in Pennsylvania in 1854, moving to Massillon, Ohio when he was in his mid-twenties. There he ran a scrap-iron operation and later owned a sandstone quarry and a lumber mill. By all accounts, he was a successful businessman.
Coxey fancied himself a populist, a reformer, a savior of the downtrodden working man. Politically, during his life he was an independent, a Democrat, a member of the Greenback Party and the People's Party and the Union Party and the United States Farmer-Labor Party and the Interracial Independent Political Party.
He ran for public office, including U.S. Senator and President, at least 20 times. He won only once, as a Republican, serving as Massillon's mayor from 1931 to 1933. He failed to win re-election.
Among his children was a son, whom he named Legal Tender Coxey -- an odd nod to the Greenbacks and a living symbol of his opposition to the gold standard.
Coxey's true and lasting legacy, however, is his citizen army. After the Panic of 1893, "General" Coxey, disturbed that the federal government was providing neither work nor wages for the unemployed, organized what he predicted would be an imposing march from Massillon to Washington.
A day before Coxey's Army was to set out for the nation's capital, according to The New York Times, things didn't look promising:
Was the movement a failure? Hardly. Coxey's trademark pitch -- that the government issue $500 million in paper currency and spend it on public projects, putting the unemployed back to work -- often is credited as the seed of FDR's New Deal. It wouldn't be far-fetched to view it as an ideological ancestor of today's Recovery and Reinvestment bonanza, either.
It's argued that Coxey, his rag-tag "Commonweal for Christ" Army and their marches laid the political foundation for Social Security, unemployment insurance and Labor Day -- not to mention serving as inspiration for L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
And who hasn't shown up at a picnic, potluck or Thanksgiving dinner to hear someone refer to table-crushing bounty as "enough food to feed Coxey's Army"?
Lancaster and Massillon, two old working-class towns, each with a general on its résumé. So which has the better claim?
Perhaps I'm swayed by my childhood memories of secret visits to a place the locals called "Coxey's Quarry," a place where my father once played when he was a dirt-poor farm boy and the owner was mayor. All things considered, I'm going to rule this one a tie.
One town is the birthplace of a famous (or infamous) Civil War general. The other has the distinction of being linked forever to a self-styled "general" who led an "army" of jobless Americans.
William Tecumseh Sherman, best known for his brutal campaign near the war's end, was articulate, if rough-edged, and an accomplished military commander. Some judged him to be insane, but more than once those who doubted his decisions saw them lead to victory on the battlefield.Ulysses S. Grant often seemed to be the only one who believed in Sherman, and vice versa:
"Grant stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk, and now we stand by each other."Through the wavy glass of history, Sherman is seen as a warmonger. The general's own words thwart attempts to simplify a complex man:
Sherman also had a thing or two to say about the media of his day."War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over."
"I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell."
The deeds and words of this son of Lancaster are remembered, and in some quarters reviled, to this day. Those of that other "general" are, to most living Americans, either unknown or forgotten."I think I understand what military fame is; to be killed on the field of battle and have your name misspelled in the newspapers."
"I hate newspapermen. They come into camp and pick up their camp rumors and print them as facts. I regard them as spies, which, in truth, they are."
"If I had my choice I would kill every reporter in the world, but I am sure we would be getting reports from Hell before breakfast."
Jacob Sechler Coxey was born in Pennsylvania in 1854, moving to Massillon, Ohio when he was in his mid-twenties. There he ran a scrap-iron operation and later owned a sandstone quarry and a lumber mill. By all accounts, he was a successful businessman.Coxey fancied himself a populist, a reformer, a savior of the downtrodden working man. Politically, during his life he was an independent, a Democrat, a member of the Greenback Party and the People's Party and the Union Party and the United States Farmer-Labor Party and the Interracial Independent Political Party.
He ran for public office, including U.S. Senator and President, at least 20 times. He won only once, as a Republican, serving as Massillon's mayor from 1931 to 1933. He failed to win re-election.
Among his children was a son, whom he named Legal Tender Coxey -- an odd nod to the Greenbacks and a living symbol of his opposition to the gold standard.
Coxey's true and lasting legacy, however, is his citizen army. After the Panic of 1893, "General" Coxey, disturbed that the federal government was providing neither work nor wages for the unemployed, organized what he predicted would be an imposing march from Massillon to Washington.
A day before Coxey's Army was to set out for the nation's capital, according to The New York Times, things didn't look promising:
A United Press reporter found the elusive Coxey and asked,"Nearly 100 recruits for Coxey's Commonweal Army arrived today from different points. Most of them are tramps who camped in the woods surrounding the town overnight. A number of them slept in the lock-up, but were released this morning."
"It is now estimated that Coxey will start from Massillon with anywhere from 100 to 500 followers. Most of those here now to join the movement are hard-looking people, but up to the present time they have shown no disposition to be unruly."
"'But how about the army, General? Isn't it time that some of your followers were beginning to join you here?'"Coxey's reply, as reported by the Times, typifies the idealist:
"'Oh, they'll be coming in to-morrow,' Gen. Coxey replied, as he has replied every day for a week past. 'I expect that to-morrow's sun will rise upon an assemblage of at least 10,000 members of our army. They will be marshaled up on the circus grounds, from which point the start is to be made Sunday at 12:30 P. M. sharp.'"The army, such as it was, did make its march to Washington, its general arriving with some 400 grimy protesters in tow. Once there, Coxey promptly was arrested and spent 20 days in jail -- for walking on the grass.
Was the movement a failure? Hardly. Coxey's trademark pitch -- that the government issue $500 million in paper currency and spend it on public projects, putting the unemployed back to work -- often is credited as the seed of FDR's New Deal. It wouldn't be far-fetched to view it as an ideological ancestor of today's Recovery and Reinvestment bonanza, either.
It's argued that Coxey, his rag-tag "Commonweal for Christ" Army and their marches laid the political foundation for Social Security, unemployment insurance and Labor Day -- not to mention serving as inspiration for L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
And who hasn't shown up at a picnic, potluck or Thanksgiving dinner to hear someone refer to table-crushing bounty as "enough food to feed Coxey's Army"?
Lancaster and Massillon, two old working-class towns, each with a general on its résumé. So which has the better claim?
Perhaps I'm swayed by my childhood memories of secret visits to a place the locals called "Coxey's Quarry," a place where my father once played when he was a dirt-poor farm boy and the owner was mayor. All things considered, I'm going to rule this one a tie.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Battle for Gauley Mountain
West Virginia's state quarter entered circulation in 2005. The coin bears the image of the New River Gorge Bridge, that BASE-jumping mecca and for many years the world's longest steel-arch span. There in the background, downstream from the iconic bridge rises Gauley Mountain, one of the soft-shouldered sentinels standing watch over the Gauley, New and Kanawha Rivers.During the Civil War, Gauley Mountain was at the center of numerous pivotal skirmishes. The Ohio Infantry's 12th Regiment famously scaled its slopes on the night of August 24th, 1861, as Union forces fought to establish a line of fortifications along the high ridges of western Virginia.
Ultimately the Union prevailed in the difficult campaign, never letting Confederate elements advance much more than a cannon shot past the western bank of the Ohio River. Now, almost 150 years later, a new struggle is joined.
This fight isn't on Gauley Mountain. It's a battle for Gauley Mountain.
Within the next few months, this symbol of Wild & Wonderful West Virginia is slated to disappear, obliterated by a coal-mining method called "mountaintop removal." Think of it as strip mining on steroids.
First, the forest would be clear-cut and the mountain's flanks scraped bare of life. Next, explosives would reduce hundreds of vertical feet of Gauley Mountain to rubble to be hauled away or pushed into the adjacent valleys. Finally, a massive dragline would work the exposed coal. The resulting overburden would be dumped into the valleys, choking rivers that sustain life and livelihoods -- permanently.
Small mountain towns would wither and, for all practical purposes, die. The wild Gauley River, a popular fly-fishing destination and one of the most technical whitewater runs in North America, would be damaged beyond repair. Far beyond the confluence of the Gauley and New Rivers -- a watershed that includes the Kanawha, the Ohio and the Mississippi -- ecology and commerce would suffer as well.I don't give a rat's red ass how much we need the coal, and I don't care how precarious the global economy is. The price is too high.
When New Hampshire's state symbol, the Old Man of the Mountain, collapsed three years after appearing on that state's quarter, the Great Stone Face fell to the forces of Nature. This is different.
This is wrong.
Watch the video. Sign a petition. Learn more at Appalachian Voices and iLoveMountains.org.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Discovering Lancaster
Thanks to the pooch-screwing episode I alluded to in my May 29th post, members of the KintlaLake family now spend a few hours each evening in Lancaster, Ohio.
We haven't often visited this city of 35,000, even though it's not far away. Trips outside our rural-suburban village tend to take us northwest toward metro Columbus rather than southeast into much smaller Lancaster -- and that's a shame, really, because in many ways it's quite an intriguing place.
To put a fine point on it, Lancaster is inescapably red, white and blue -- as in redneck, white socks and Blue Ribbon Beer. Patriotic? Damned right, ultra-conservative and proud to claim Union Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman as its favorite son.
It's hard to mistake Lancaster for anything but what it is -- a faded industrial town, still holding on to the Anchor Hocking glass company. Like other county seats in this part of the country, it has its cluster of 19th-century government buildings, its stately houses lining shaded hilltop avenues and a Main Street that feels warmly familiar to Americans who grew up in the Midwest back when I did.
And that may be the source of Lancaster's appeal -- for better and for worse, this is a town that hasn't quite escaped the 1960s.
Neon signs older than I am beckon customers to donut shops, diners and shopping plazas. Along U.S. 22, dozens of old structures remain as roadside reminders of days when this was the main route from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh. Nearly all of these buildings -- once motor lodges, filling stations or general stores -- have found new purposes, but their heritage shines through the vinyl siding and landscaping.
To say that Lancaster reminds me of my birthplace in northeast Ohio would be an understatement. Both are gritty blue-collar towns, almost identical in size and surrounded by farmland. One has Zane's Trace and the Scioto River, the other the Lincoln Highway and the Tuscarawas. They share a stubborn resistance to the glitz and gloss of progress. Both feel like home.
On our near-daily trips to Lancaster, Mrs. KintlaLake and I usually have an hour or more to relax, grab a bite to eat and do a bit of exploring. Our dining options aren't limited to fast-foot chains -- independent family restaurants, hot-dog stands and greasy spoons abound. Tooling aimlessly around town, we've become fond of playing a nostalgic game of, "I wonder what that used to be?"
Last night, hell, we even found an honest-to-god drive-in theater.
The events that drew us into Lancaster aren't something we would've wished for, certainly. Still, imperfect circumstances have presented us with a chance to discover a fascinating old town, a place we'd overlooked until now -- and that's something we welcome.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Sharps: Suggestion box
Dear W.R. Case & Sons Cutlery Company:
First of all, I'm a lifelong fan of W.R. Case pocketknives, tracing back to the Case pen my dad carried even before I was born in the late 1950s.
These days I'm a user, not a collector. I write about knives (among other subjects), and I find myself recommending the Victorinox Farmer and old-design Soldier to people looking for a basic four- or five-blade "camper" pocketknife. I've even suggested a few knives that are no longer made -- like an old Ulster BSA, a Remington (Camillus) R-4 Utility and the military-issue Camillus Demo.
I wish I could recommend (and own, and use) a comparable Made-in-USA pocketknife as an alternative to the Swiss-made Victorinox -- spear-point blade, caplifter/screwdriver, can opener and awl (and possibly a saw). I know that Case offers the Jr. Scout, but it's relatively small and its price is much higher.
I'm not proposing that W.R. Case try to compete model-for-model and blade-for-blade with Victorinox -- I'm simply suggesting that your company consider producing a basic four- or five-blade pocketknife in the classic "camper" or "scout" pattern, with a street price under $40.
Thank you for your time, for your hard work, and for proving every day that the American worker still turns out great sharps.
Cordially,
KintlaLake
First of all, I'm a lifelong fan of W.R. Case pocketknives, tracing back to the Case pen my dad carried even before I was born in the late 1950s.
These days I'm a user, not a collector. I write about knives (among other subjects), and I find myself recommending the Victorinox Farmer and old-design Soldier to people looking for a basic four- or five-blade "camper" pocketknife. I've even suggested a few knives that are no longer made -- like an old Ulster BSA, a Remington (Camillus) R-4 Utility and the military-issue Camillus Demo.
I wish I could recommend (and own, and use) a comparable Made-in-USA pocketknife as an alternative to the Swiss-made Victorinox -- spear-point blade, caplifter/screwdriver, can opener and awl (and possibly a saw). I know that Case offers the Jr. Scout, but it's relatively small and its price is much higher.
I'm not proposing that W.R. Case try to compete model-for-model and blade-for-blade with Victorinox -- I'm simply suggesting that your company consider producing a basic four- or five-blade pocketknife in the classic "camper" or "scout" pattern, with a street price under $40.
Thank you for your time, for your hard work, and for proving every day that the American worker still turns out great sharps.
Cordially,
KintlaLake
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Dodged a bullet
Today we made a bit more progress toward our move, hauling two SUV-loads over to our soon-to-be digs.
On my second trip, while letting the TrailBlazer coast down a hill just north of our house, I glanced at the speedometer -- 37mph. Since that was 12mph over the posted limit, reflexively I looked up at the rearview mirror.
A sheriff's cruiser was right on my back bumper. Shit.
The possibility of getting a speeding ticket wasn't what concerned me. See, at that moment I happened to be hauling virtually all of my family's home-defense inventory -- half of our hardware and 95% of our software, a very heavy load. Even though everything was locked and nothing was loaded, I began to imagine having an interesting conversation with a uniformed county employee.
I also found myself reconsidering the bright red ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ decal affixed to my rear window.
The cruiser turned right a half-mile later. I continued on to my destination without detention, paying close attention to my speed.
Note to self...
On my second trip, while letting the TrailBlazer coast down a hill just north of our house, I glanced at the speedometer -- 37mph. Since that was 12mph over the posted limit, reflexively I looked up at the rearview mirror.
A sheriff's cruiser was right on my back bumper. Shit.
The possibility of getting a speeding ticket wasn't what concerned me. See, at that moment I happened to be hauling virtually all of my family's home-defense inventory -- half of our hardware and 95% of our software, a very heavy load. Even though everything was locked and nothing was loaded, I began to imagine having an interesting conversation with a uniformed county employee.
I also found myself reconsidering the bright red ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ decal affixed to my rear window.
The cruiser turned right a half-mile later. I continued on to my destination without detention, paying close attention to my speed.
Note to self...
Sixty-five years on
Most of us can be forgiven for not fully grasping the importance of June 6th, 1944.
What's unforgivable, regardless of our age, is lacking the will to understand.
Our parents and grandparents told us the stories -- I know mine did. I was born half a generation afterward, but I knew men who fought in that war and came home bearing its scars. One of my junior-high teachers had survived the terror of Omaha Beach, his passion and purpose apparent to all who knew him.
They told their tales softly, wistfully, of fear and resolve, duty and sacrifice. At home and in service abroad, of a nation united.
In the 65 years since D-Day, through conflicts cold and searing hot, our leaders have conjured threats and tyrants designed to inspire Americans to rise as they did during World War II, and yet we've never quite matched the commitment of The Greatest Generation.
To be sure, the valor of our men and women in uniform has never diminished, never wavered. What bears remembering, however, and what we must understand, is that this nation never faced the danger it did on June 6th, 1944 -- not before and not since.
We should never, ever lose sight of that.
Above the beaches of Normandy, today 9,000 graves stand in silent testimony to the men who saved the world. We cannot overstate what they did, nor can we extend to them the full measure of honor they so clearly deserve.
All we can do, with humility and gratitude, is try to understand.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Poor man's PowerBar
As far as I know, it's been more than 30 years since Pop-Tarts were available in Concord Grape.Today, a two-pack of Frosted Blueberry will have to do, but damn, how I miss good old Concord Grape.
The impotence of indignation
Columbus, Ohio is Middle America, USA, home to nearly two million people. For simplicity's sake, you may consider it my hometown.
Derided by some as inconsequential or at best overrated, Columbus and its patchwork suburbs always have been viewed as relatively conservative and football-crazed, a fine place to raise a family. It's never been as perfect or as perfectly boring as the stereotypes imply, of course -- like many metro areas across the Midwest, it's simply a decent place to live with lots of room for improvement.
These days, being labeled a "cow town" is the least of our concerns. In addition to high unemployment, a painful budget crisis and embarrassingly low high-school graduation rates making national headlines, there's a much darker blotch on Columbus:
This isn't about Muslims, though, and it's not about tens of thousands of displaced Somalis who live on the city's northeast side. It's about a sleepy citizenry that's cleared the land where evil now grows.
Columbus is paying a high price for its contentment, and not just at a small mosque preaching radical Islam. The hateful tentacles of Christian extremism, the equivalent of "jihad for Jesus," reach beyond long-established rural enclaves to cast dark shadows on our suburbs. Thousands of our youth are infected with meth, heroin and indiscriminate violence.
Our complacency makes all of this possible. Our self-absorbed ignorance allows it to continue.
At the KintlaLake dinner table one evening, shortly after this blended family came together, the younger spawn let out with a loud belch. As my wife and I glared at him, the older boy responded with a belch of his own, louder and longer than his brother's. They giggled.
"That's disgusting," Mrs. KintlaLake scolded.
More belching, more giggling. At that age, I guess, "disgusting" is something of a compliment.
After dinner, I suggested to my wife that classifying such behavior as "unacceptable" might be more effective. Once we took that approach, the spawns' mealtime eruptions ceased.
Our communities face scourges of extremism, violence and hate. We're swimming in effluent spewed from narcotics pipelines. In response to these evils, all we seem to offer is, "that's disgusting."
Righteous indignation won't get the job done. Only by declaring evil unacceptable -- and then acting on that declaration -- will we reclaim our communities.
To those who would take my suggestion as an excuse to amplify their hatred or magnify divisions: Go to hell. Yours is precisely the curse we seek to remove.
When we get it right, we'll accept Christians and Muslims but reject extremism in the guise of any religious faith or ideology. We'll welcome a drug-rehab clinic in the center of town and yet be wholly intolerant of a crack house, even if it's on the other side of the tracks. We'll actively guard our borders against illegal immigration while embracing anyone who's here legally -- whether they tend our lawn, befriend our kids or live next door.
The difference between disgusting and unacceptable is the difference between righteousness and reclamation. Without being naive, it acknowledges that a simple-minded obsession with race, religion or affiliation blinds us to the facts we need to survive.
It charts our road to ruin, and it shows us the way home.
Derided by some as inconsequential or at best overrated, Columbus and its patchwork suburbs always have been viewed as relatively conservative and football-crazed, a fine place to raise a family. It's never been as perfect or as perfectly boring as the stereotypes imply, of course -- like many metro areas across the Midwest, it's simply a decent place to live with lots of room for improvement.
These days, being labeled a "cow town" is the least of our concerns. In addition to high unemployment, a painful budget crisis and embarrassingly low high-school graduation rates making national headlines, there's a much darker blotch on Columbus:
The seeds of terrorism -- or, to borrow the term invoked yesterday by Pres. Obama, "violent extremism" -- have taken root right here in the Heartland."Nuradin Abdi was convicted in 2007 of planning to blow up an Ohio shopping mall. Iyman Faris was convicted in 2003 of planning to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge. Christopher Paul was convicted in 2008 of conspiring to use explosives against targets in the U.S. and Europe.
"All three terrorists worshiped and socialized at a small mosque in Columbus, Ohio, and, according to David B. Smith, an attorney for Faris, were part of a larger group of jihadists and extremists who frequented the mosque.
"The FBI now is investigating reports of links to that same mosque by Muslim-convert Abdulhakim Muhammad who allegedly shot and killed one soldier Monday and critically wounded another in a drive-by attack on a Little Rock, Arkansas, recruiting station...."
This isn't about Muslims, though, and it's not about tens of thousands of displaced Somalis who live on the city's northeast side. It's about a sleepy citizenry that's cleared the land where evil now grows.
Columbus is paying a high price for its contentment, and not just at a small mosque preaching radical Islam. The hateful tentacles of Christian extremism, the equivalent of "jihad for Jesus," reach beyond long-established rural enclaves to cast dark shadows on our suburbs. Thousands of our youth are infected with meth, heroin and indiscriminate violence.
Our complacency makes all of this possible. Our self-absorbed ignorance allows it to continue.
At the KintlaLake dinner table one evening, shortly after this blended family came together, the younger spawn let out with a loud belch. As my wife and I glared at him, the older boy responded with a belch of his own, louder and longer than his brother's. They giggled.
"That's disgusting," Mrs. KintlaLake scolded.
More belching, more giggling. At that age, I guess, "disgusting" is something of a compliment.
After dinner, I suggested to my wife that classifying such behavior as "unacceptable" might be more effective. Once we took that approach, the spawns' mealtime eruptions ceased.
Our communities face scourges of extremism, violence and hate. We're swimming in effluent spewed from narcotics pipelines. In response to these evils, all we seem to offer is, "that's disgusting."
Righteous indignation won't get the job done. Only by declaring evil unacceptable -- and then acting on that declaration -- will we reclaim our communities.
To those who would take my suggestion as an excuse to amplify their hatred or magnify divisions: Go to hell. Yours is precisely the curse we seek to remove.
When we get it right, we'll accept Christians and Muslims but reject extremism in the guise of any religious faith or ideology. We'll welcome a drug-rehab clinic in the center of town and yet be wholly intolerant of a crack house, even if it's on the other side of the tracks. We'll actively guard our borders against illegal immigration while embracing anyone who's here legally -- whether they tend our lawn, befriend our kids or live next door.
The difference between disgusting and unacceptable is the difference between righteousness and reclamation. Without being naive, it acknowledges that a simple-minded obsession with race, religion or affiliation blinds us to the facts we need to survive.
It charts our road to ruin, and it shows us the way home.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Sharps: A plan comes together
As I've said before, a firesteel is one of my must-have pieces of kit. Generally I like to carry it with my knife, and not long after I got my RAT RC-4 I started thinking about how I might add a firesteel loop to its standard-equipment sheath.One day I stumbled across CustomKydex and queried Kiah, the proprietor, about making just that one small piece for me. (Most of Kiah's plastic is more fantastic, much more elaborate and very cool.) The answer was yes, I replied with my specs, and my RAT and I sat by the mailbox.
While we were waiting, I used triangular files of two different sizes to remove the coating from the jigged section of my RC-4's spine. The firesteel requires a square-cornered striker and bare metal works better, so some of the black stuff had to go unless I wanted to strike with the knife's sharpened edge (which I don't). Thus modified, it works perfectly.
Kiah's handiwork arrived in today's mail, and it's exactly what I wanted. It took only a few minutes to install the loop between the RAT's Kydex sheath and MOLLE back. A pair of longer Chicago screws, which Kiah supplied, hold it in place. The loop is sized just right, too, tight enough to hold the firesteel securely by friction alone. (It'll loosen up a bit as the firesteel wears, naturally.)As a package, it looks like it came that way from the factory -- it's simple, inexpensive and elegant. I'm liking it a lot.
(In case you're wondering, yes, it's raining out by my woodpile today.)
Earlier postsSharps: RAT Cutlery RC-4P MB
Sharps: Heartland leather
Links
CustomKydex
RAT Cutlery Co.
BladeForums thread
Deal or no deal?
The U.S. auto industry is on the skids. Two of the former "big three" American automakers are in bankruptcy, and last month sales of the three largest Japanese marques declined nearly 50% compared to a year ago. Any spin we hear about May's numbers being better than April's is promoting a mirage -- the uptick can be traced to short sales of excess inventory, nothing more.
The industry's survival -- indeed, the very future of American manufacturing and transportation -- doesn't hinge on new designs or streamlined operations. It depends solely on commerce. Either Americans will buy enough new vehicles to keep these companies afloat, or we won't.
That's as obvious as it is simple, but it also puts millions of citizen-consumers in a tough spot.
Right now, manufacturers and dealers are clearing the decks, blowing product off their lots at unheard-of discounts. These "deals" are hard to resist -- witness the increasing number of shiny new vehicles sporting temporary tags -- and the federal government pledges to backstop manufacturers' warranties (in theory, anyway). For buyers who have the cash or credit to seize the moment, what's not to like?
First, with manufacturers' futures uncertain, resale values are in the toilet and a vehicle's immediate depreciation is higher than ever. Cash-on-the-barrelhead buyers are taking an enormous hit before the odometer turns double digits, and for those who buy on credit, low-low-low interest rates don't come close to offsetting the huge drive-away loss.
Second, as the industry tries desperately to retool itself, hoping to attract the elusive Consumer of Tomorrow, manufacturers will amputate models and brands that don't fit into their plans. Owners of these orphaned vehicles will find parts harder to get, and authorized service inevitably will be less competent.
Finally, it's clear that we're headed for a smaller auto industry with leaner manufacturers, fewer dealers and service facilities and a network of parts suppliers that has no choice but to shrink. For consumers, the inconvenience of having to travel farther and wait longer will be exacerbated by the much higher cost of parts and service, especially on orphaned models.
Yes, I'm saying that now is a lousy time to buy a new car or truck -- with a few exceptions.
To find one of those exceptions, a buyer might consider models that have, for whatever reason, been around for five or ten years without significant mechanical changes. Forget styling -- I'm talking about engine, drivetrain and electrics. An established vehicle will have spawned a more reliable supply of parts (including salvage) and developed a larger number of experienced mechanics.
None of that erases the cost of depreciation, however. That's why, if I were in need of a car or truck right now, I'd buy used. My criteria would be the same as if I were looking at a new vehicle -- that is, I'd limit my search to long-running models.
In addition to avoiding big instant depreciation, I'd pay considerably less in sales tax and insurance premiums. If I lived in a jurisdiction that taxes motor vehicles as property (like real estate), I'd save money there, too.
I'd also have more choices for service. Instead of being tied to authorized facilities (dealers), my options would include small independent garages and mechanics, and that'd keep more of my money in my own community.
Of course, there are undeniable down-sides to buying used. Dealers are local businesses, and avoiding them would cause some to suffer and perhaps fail. And in the big picture, the national picture, I'd be declining to participate in the revitalization of the American auto industry, at least to some degree. By not spending money on a new vehicle, I wouldn't be supporting the automakers and the jobs that depend on their survival.
Worst of all, ultimately my actions could hasten the erosion of the nation's industrial base.
Even knowing that, I'm not of the opinion that it's somehow my patriotic duty to make ill-advised personal financial choices. Far too many such choices have been made already, on my behalf, by my elected officials.
My family comes first, my community second. Those are the priorities that will guide my decisions.
As we've seen, capitalism relies on commerce, not high finance. We have a much better chance of rebuilding our national economy if we start at the bottom and work up -- beginning with citizen-consumers making smart choices, close to home.
The industry's survival -- indeed, the very future of American manufacturing and transportation -- doesn't hinge on new designs or streamlined operations. It depends solely on commerce. Either Americans will buy enough new vehicles to keep these companies afloat, or we won't.
That's as obvious as it is simple, but it also puts millions of citizen-consumers in a tough spot.
Right now, manufacturers and dealers are clearing the decks, blowing product off their lots at unheard-of discounts. These "deals" are hard to resist -- witness the increasing number of shiny new vehicles sporting temporary tags -- and the federal government pledges to backstop manufacturers' warranties (in theory, anyway). For buyers who have the cash or credit to seize the moment, what's not to like?
First, with manufacturers' futures uncertain, resale values are in the toilet and a vehicle's immediate depreciation is higher than ever. Cash-on-the-barrelhead buyers are taking an enormous hit before the odometer turns double digits, and for those who buy on credit, low-low-low interest rates don't come close to offsetting the huge drive-away loss.
Second, as the industry tries desperately to retool itself, hoping to attract the elusive Consumer of Tomorrow, manufacturers will amputate models and brands that don't fit into their plans. Owners of these orphaned vehicles will find parts harder to get, and authorized service inevitably will be less competent.
Finally, it's clear that we're headed for a smaller auto industry with leaner manufacturers, fewer dealers and service facilities and a network of parts suppliers that has no choice but to shrink. For consumers, the inconvenience of having to travel farther and wait longer will be exacerbated by the much higher cost of parts and service, especially on orphaned models.
Yes, I'm saying that now is a lousy time to buy a new car or truck -- with a few exceptions.
To find one of those exceptions, a buyer might consider models that have, for whatever reason, been around for five or ten years without significant mechanical changes. Forget styling -- I'm talking about engine, drivetrain and electrics. An established vehicle will have spawned a more reliable supply of parts (including salvage) and developed a larger number of experienced mechanics.
None of that erases the cost of depreciation, however. That's why, if I were in need of a car or truck right now, I'd buy used. My criteria would be the same as if I were looking at a new vehicle -- that is, I'd limit my search to long-running models.
In addition to avoiding big instant depreciation, I'd pay considerably less in sales tax and insurance premiums. If I lived in a jurisdiction that taxes motor vehicles as property (like real estate), I'd save money there, too.
I'd also have more choices for service. Instead of being tied to authorized facilities (dealers), my options would include small independent garages and mechanics, and that'd keep more of my money in my own community.
Of course, there are undeniable down-sides to buying used. Dealers are local businesses, and avoiding them would cause some to suffer and perhaps fail. And in the big picture, the national picture, I'd be declining to participate in the revitalization of the American auto industry, at least to some degree. By not spending money on a new vehicle, I wouldn't be supporting the automakers and the jobs that depend on their survival.
Worst of all, ultimately my actions could hasten the erosion of the nation's industrial base.
Even knowing that, I'm not of the opinion that it's somehow my patriotic duty to make ill-advised personal financial choices. Far too many such choices have been made already, on my behalf, by my elected officials.
My family comes first, my community second. Those are the priorities that will guide my decisions.
As we've seen, capitalism relies on commerce, not high finance. We have a much better chance of rebuilding our national economy if we start at the bottom and work up -- beginning with citizen-consumers making smart choices, close to home.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
发嗡嗡声的东西
Today, now-bankrupt GM confirmed that it'll sell Hummer to Sichuan Tengzhong Heavy Industrial Machinery -- a Chinese company.
Just shoot me.
You're welcome to call me xenophobic, isolationist or protectionist -- hell, you can call me a cab, but please, just shoot me first.
I've never owned a Hummer but I drove one for a day, a sort of celebrity perk. A dealer in upstate New York decided that if I drove it around I'd attract attention to his business, and I happily obliged him.
Mostly, I attracted passengers. (Ten, as I recall.) This was 1998, when there was no numeric model designation -- it was just a Hummer, impossibly big and barely domesticated. I loved the size, the engine, the heft, the ability to inflate and deflate the tires while rumbling down the road.
The air conditioning sucked. The giggle factor was off the charts.
Oh, screw eco-hostility and dirty looks -- this was a Hummer, for crissake. As long as I had the scratch to pay for the fillups, I couldn't possibly have cared less.
I thought that someday I might build my Garage Mahal and own one of these quintessentially American brutes. Alas, my personal financial ship sailed and now, it appears, so has Hummer.
Damn.
Just shoot me.
You're welcome to call me xenophobic, isolationist or protectionist -- hell, you can call me a cab, but please, just shoot me first.
I've never owned a Hummer but I drove one for a day, a sort of celebrity perk. A dealer in upstate New York decided that if I drove it around I'd attract attention to his business, and I happily obliged him.Mostly, I attracted passengers. (Ten, as I recall.) This was 1998, when there was no numeric model designation -- it was just a Hummer, impossibly big and barely domesticated. I loved the size, the engine, the heft, the ability to inflate and deflate the tires while rumbling down the road.
The air conditioning sucked. The giggle factor was off the charts.
Oh, screw eco-hostility and dirty looks -- this was a Hummer, for crissake. As long as I had the scratch to pay for the fillups, I couldn't possibly have cared less.
I thought that someday I might build my Garage Mahal and own one of these quintessentially American brutes. Alas, my personal financial ship sailed and now, it appears, so has Hummer.
Damn.
Cordage: Farmer's friend
It took me just fifteen minutes this morning to turn out a basic tether for my new Victorinox Farmer.
This is what I'd call a medium-sized survival lanyard, packing about ten feet of intact paracord into a relatively tidy bundle. It's woven in a double (overlapping) cobra stitch, with a spring clip on one end and a split ring on the other. Nothing complicated, nothing fancy.
No skull beads this time.
The knot, by the way, is a figure-eight-on-a-bight. Depending on my mood, it seems, I tend to go back and forth between that and a stevedore knot, which essentially is a figure-eight with an extra wrap.
Later I'll do a simple paracord fob for the Farmer, maybe capturing a tiny firesteel, for those times when I want something less bulky. If I had this lanyard to do over again, I might make it with a shorter run of double cobra, but as-is it'll serve my EDC purposes just fine.
This is what I'd call a medium-sized survival lanyard, packing about ten feet of intact paracord into a relatively tidy bundle. It's woven in a double (overlapping) cobra stitch, with a spring clip on one end and a split ring on the other. Nothing complicated, nothing fancy.No skull beads this time.
The knot, by the way, is a figure-eight-on-a-bight. Depending on my mood, it seems, I tend to go back and forth between that and a stevedore knot, which essentially is a figure-eight with an extra wrap.
Later I'll do a simple paracord fob for the Farmer, maybe capturing a tiny firesteel, for those times when I want something less bulky. If I had this lanyard to do over again, I might make it with a shorter run of double cobra, but as-is it'll serve my EDC purposes just fine.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Any questions?
"If you're going to be engaged in a world conflict such as we are, such as the global war on terrorism, if you don't have a place where you can hold these people, your only other option is to kill them. And we don't operate that way." (Dick Cheney, speaking today to the National Press Club)
"I can't find a good reason to disagree -- at least not with the first sentence, anyway." (KintlaLake, wondering if he'll go blind if he keeps quoting himself)
"I can't find a good reason to disagree -- at least not with the first sentence, anyway." (KintlaLake, wondering if he'll go blind if he keeps quoting himself)
Sharps: Cheap therapy
I think it was sometime on Friday afternoon that I decided to retire my Wenger Basic Camper from my everyday-carry rotation and treat myself to a new Victorinox Farmer.A red one.
The Wenger, a 20-year-old Euro-only model engraved with my name, is still quite serviceable although it's not really very stout. It's simply always there on the nightstand when I fill my pockets every morning. Sure, I could've gone back to my old-style Victorinox Soldier, but to be perfectly honest, I was looking for an inexpensive pick-me-up.
I placed my order with FelineVet on Saturday morning, and shortly thereafter I got a message from Tim saying that he'd ship today.
To my surprise, it arrived today. Same-day USPS shipping from California to Columbus? Now that's service (and quite impossible, of course -- my package ended up making Tim's Saturday shipment).
Now that I have a Farmer of my own, I can confirm that it's my kind of multi-blade pocketknife. It officially becomes my regular EDC knife tomorrow morning. And before week's end, I believe I'll give it a new paracord lanyard.
Earlier postsSharps: Errata & addenda
Sharps: A modern-day Soldier
Sharps: Rite of passage
Sharps, Part I: In the pocket
Links
Victorinox
Swiss Army
FelineVet
Secret Order of Swiss Army Knives
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